I told Paul last night that I was going today to apply for the job at Matt's school the principal told me was still open. It was for "lunch room assistant". This morning Paul asked me why I was applying for the job. I could have answered his questions in many ways, all snotty, of course. I could have said truthfully, "Ummm, you're the one who sent the job announcement email to me.". I could have said, "Because you complain about money all the time.". I could have said oh so many things. What I said was, "Ever since I was a little girl I've dreamed of wearing a hair net to work, to have huge, fat arms, wear a white uniform, and cook things that come in gigantic jars and cans.". Now I think I can get away with this mean sarcasm because I went to beauty school and was a hairdresser. Talk about stereo-type jokes. I was also a waitress for too many years. I've cleaned houses, hell, I've cleaned HIS pee off the toilet. Sorry I don't have a PhD. So I spent the greater part of the day finding the office, filling out 10 pages of application forms, and taking one of three of the reference forms to be completed by a "co-worker". When I got home there was a message on the answering machine from the principal saying the job had been filled. Disappointment and relief. Three hours a day, Matt's school, school at all (same schedule as the kid), $10 an hour... I was IN THE MONEY plus still some alone time. But, for an artist, that bad, bad four letter word, W...O...R...K, makes any self-respecting artiste run for the nearest bottle of Xanax. Because WORK is SUPPOSED to mean PAYCHECK. Huh! I'm a stay-at-home mom, take care of a too-big-for-me house, supposed to be a cook, am an artist, and have a shop. And still no money! Who do I need to meet with about this?